


the glauca (mis) guide to turning traitor

by Anonymous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: AU where Drautos doesn’t turn traitor out of spite, because it’s just insulting how easy it would be.Loosely follows Kingsglaive canon and then derails altogether.





	the glauca (mis) guide to turning traitor

**Author's Note:**

> *hurls this into the void*

It was an outing to Galdin Key, three weeks since his and Ambassador Calligor’s arrival, when the forces of the universe conspiring against him tossed the first wrench. Barring the current hotel guests the beach had been closed to the public for the day. King Regis had brought Marshal Cor Leonis along as part of his protection detail, and the boat he chose for the fishing expedition was large enough to carry only two people, maybe squeeze in a third if they moved things around. Cor, who had probably come out of the womb fully-grown and married to his job had insisted Drautos take the afternoon off. 

Drautos saw no point in arguing: drownings might have been a natural cause of death that far out to sea, but he would have been hard-pressed trying to explain a boat capsizing to the investigating authorities in _the most tranquil body of water_ known to the region.

“I’ll be here at the pier, Your Excellency. Your Majesty.” Drautos added, bowing respectfully.

“Do try to enjoy yourself, Titus.“ said Calligor. "Perhaps a few ice cold Coronas, on me.”

Drautos as a rule, did not drink while on the job, and especially did not drink beer but he thanked Calligor regardless and made a mental note to tip out the expensive lager as soon as their backs were turned.

The hotel staff were accomodating, as their roles required, but suspiciously so. Drautos would have been content to put down roots at the bar _directly_ under the fan, but when he turned to make headway down the jetty three staff members were already waiting with a deck chair and umbrella for him.  

“Courtesy of the Marshall.” said the man with the Manager badge while the other two struggled to keep the umbrella from being swept out in the wind. A fourth scurried in with a bucket of ice and beers, and after the manager’s nod set them down beside the deck chair before scurrying off.

Drautos watched them busy themselves, cynical. As someone whose life experiences accustomed him to expecting the worst, this had to be an omen. Out on the water Regis and Calligor were chatting, rods cast. Cor on the other hand, was watching him. He raised the bottle of water in his hand at Drautos, who after a second spent deliberating whether the man suspected, gave a wane nod in response and shed his blazer. Time to wait for the punchline to today’s idyllic afternoon.

An hour in, he gave up.  He was reaching for the buzzer the Manager had left him to order some sandwiches for himself when he heard a horrified shriek coming from the beach. A boy had lost his footing, dangling off the side of a cliff overlooking the water, just a few metres outside of where the jetty ended.

Later, much later, he would reflect on the irony.

And then he was moving.

Screams of terror by hotel staff and a few of the guests followed Drautos as he sprinted down the jetty, the boy clawing desperately at the air as he fell, moments before plunging into the water.

Drautos locked on to the boy’s skinny arms the second he surfaced, surging toward him in powerful strokes, Val’s shrill laughter a roar in his ears. He caught the boy by the wrist before he could slip under and tossed him onto his back.

_Are you a survivor, Wolf?_

“Hold on!”

It felt redundant to say, with rigid, stick-thin arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, but Drautos never operated on assumptions. Common sense for the human race – or at least in his experience with all the lives he’d taken (and _too easily_ , in his opinion) had never been a dominant trait. Old habits, perhaps.

The current propelled them out toward the open water. Drautos, if he wasn’t too busy trying to keep them afloat, would’ve boxed the boy’s ears. Who’d ever heard of a rescuee apologising for being rescued? Every two seconds he’d hear a gurgled “I’m sorry” over, and over and the longer he heard it the more it felt like a direct attack on his pride, as if the boy had doomed them both to a watery grave and all of Drautos’ actions were an exercise in futility.

_(Or are you a fool?)_

“We’re going to be fine!” Drautos yelled. “Once we’re out of the rip I can swim us back to land! There’s no use trying to fight the current so we have to wait, got it?”

“…okay.”

“Or so help me gods I will give you something to be sorry about.” Drautos muttered.

A small crowd had gathered as they emerged from the water, the boy’s arms still in a vice around his neck. The manager, who had a towel ready, looked as if he had been ten seconds away from submitting his resignation, sweating profusely.

“Sir–”

“He’s fine. Just–move! find his parents so I can have a word with– I said move!” Drautos groused. The crowd flinched and shuffled to make way for them. Drautos lowered his charge onto the sand and after dropping to one knee, snatched the towel and started drying the boy’s hair vigorously until it stood on end.

“Ow!”

Drautos carried on as if he hadn’t heard and a ripple of disapproval went through the crowd. He wrapped the towel around the boy.

“Why were you up there alone?” he demanded. “Where are your parents?”

The boy flinched, tugging the towel tighter around himself. He glared at the sand, mumbling. “I wanted to go fishing…this guy lent me his gear and…”

_Of all the stupid–_

Drautos bit back the next round of scolding on the tip of his tongue and counted to five in his head. This was a kid, not a punkass new recruit who had compromised the safety of the entire unit. He cleared his throat and in a calmer, more controlled tone, tried again. “Do you know your parents' phone number?”

The boy nodded.

“Good. You!” Drautos barked. The manager jumped.

“Y-yes sir?”

“Your phone. Please.” Drautos added, because the man literally looked like he was halfway between fainting or being sick all over the beach and one life was already more than his quota of rescuing filled for this month.

The manager’s hand shook as he relinquished it. Drautos tapped in the numbers the boy recited.

“Um,” the manager went, while Drautos listened to the phone ring, “we’ve already contacted his father.”

There was efficient and then there was eerie and Drautos was now cycling through the exits he’d memorised upon arrival. As a precaution, of course.

“Yes sir. You see–”

Drautos held up a finger as the phone was answered.

“Leonis speaking.”

“Marshall?” Drautos frowned.

“It’s Drautos,” said Cor to the others, sounding faintly amused. In the background Drautos could hear King Regis…in the middle of a panic, for some reason. “We’ll be at the pier in a few more minutes. If you two could meet us there, that would make things easier for everyone.” He hung up.

Drautos turned back to the boy, this time peering a lot more closely. The longer he studied him, the more he started to see the resemblance.

The prince squirmed under his gaze. “Um. Was he angry?”

Actually, Cor sounded like he was used to it, as if the boy’s harrowing escape from mortality was as fantastically banal as commenting on the weather or traffic.  

“Let’s go Highness.” Drautos started walking, one foot squelching water in his shoe, the other foot completely bare and burning against the heat of the sand underneath. The boy had to jog a little to keep up with his longer strides. His towel, which was a size too large for him trailed behind in the sand like a cape.

“Um. Mister–”

“Drautos.”

“Mister Drau…tos, am I in trouble?”

It wasn’t in Drautos’ nature to lecture someone he wasn’t paid to be responsible for, least of all the child of only one of the most powerful men in the world.

“Are you usually in trouble, Highness?” he asked. The ‘in’ he’d added to spare the boy’s feelings. Noctis’ eyes were watering, on the verge of crying.  Drautos’ braced himself.

The prince paused instead, expression thoughtful.

“Well…not on _purpose_ …”

When they reached the stairs to climb onto the jetty, he deliberately slowed to let Drautos go ahead of him. Drautos turned back while the boat approached and the occupants, with the exception of Regis began to disembark.  The king himself had warped onto the pier before the boat had even stopped, running towards them.  

“Noct!”

Noctis hesitated.

“Better go.” Drautos murmured. “You make him come to you the punishment will be a lot worse.”

“…I just wanted to go fishing.” Noctis muttered, shuffling past. Regis swooped him up, hugging him tightly. Calligor, who looked a little green upon exiting the boat, had been given a bucket and was currently pouring his guts into it.

“Sorry dad–”

“Are you alright?”

“…Um. If I say 'yeah’ am I grounded?”

Cor blocked the two from view, holding out a towel.

“Thanks.” Drautos wrapped it around himself. In his peripheral vision the guests and hotel staff shuffled back indoors, the afternoon’s earlier excitement wearing off.

“Can’t tell if he does it for attention or if he’s just that accident-prone. Must have snuck into the Regalia before us.”

“Hnn. Majesty.” Drautos straightened as Regis approached, Noctis holding his hand and looking very, very much grounded from the sullen expression on his face. Regis offered a hand.

“I can’t thank you enough–”

Drautos shook it.  

“All in a days work, your majesty.”

“In that case, as thanks for a job well done, I wonder if you might join me and Noct for dinner tonight at the palace. As Calligor isn’t looking too well I have already arranged for Cor to keep an eye on him, should you have hesitations regarding his safety.”

And there went Drauto’s exit strategy.

“I’d be honored, your majesty.”

“Excellent!  Shall we say 7PM or is that too early?”

“7PM is fine, sire.”


End file.
